O Christmas Tree
by cheride
Summary: A McCormick family tree.


_**O Christmas Tree**_- _cheride_

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators. And, for the record--belated though it may be-- Matt McCormick doesn't belong to me, either. He is on loan from L.M. Lewis, so many thanks for that, as well._

_Rating: K_

**AN:** Just a word of thanks to two ladies, not so much for the tireless beta work and ongoing encouragement of whatever writing I happen to slog through, as for constant friendship and support in matters both big and small. It means the world to me.

Happy holidays to everyone.

* * *

Mark stood silently, looking at the tree, the final ornament clutched in his hand. The blinking colors were mesmerizing, though he doubted it was entirely the lights. He wasn't sure how long he stood there before he heard the voice calling to him.

"Dad, come on. We're waitin' on you. We want to have some cocoa."

He didn't move; didn't even look over at his son. "Some things are worth waitin' for, kiddo."

He stood another moment, then took a step back, examining the tree from a slightly different perspective. After a second, he moved to stand beside his wife, perched on the arm of an overstuffed easy chair. Draping an arm around her shoulder, he said, "There's a lifetime on that tree. A couple of 'em, in fact."

She smiled slightly. "They're good ones."

"They are that," he agreed. Holding up the ornament in his hand, he finally looked back at his son. "You know the story of this one, right?"

Kathy snickered as Matt rolled his eyes. "Honey, I think he could probably _tell_ that story."

"Yeah, Dad. That car is the last thing you hang on the tree every year, and every year you tell me about your first Christmas at Gulls' Way. Somewhere between your version of the crazy old coot with a soft spot for Christmas, and Grandpa Milt's story that he didn't want some junior Scrooge-in-training moping around his house on Christmas Eve, I'm pretty sure I've figured out how it all really happened."

"Oh, you think so, do you, wiseguy?" McCormick asked with mock severity. "Let's see what else you've figured out." He dropped down onto an ottoman and scooted it back to lean against the chair as Kathy slid off the arm and down into the cushion. He pointed toward the decorations. "Tell me about some of the others."

He thought for a moment the young man was going to object, but then he felt a subtle movement behind him, which was almost certainly mom stepping into the mix, and then Matt just grinned as he situated himself more comfortably on the couch.

Pointing at a spot on the tree, Matt said, "Might as well start with me. Baby's First Christmas, 1993. Grandma gave that to you guys. She was probably pretty annoyed you made her wait so long, and she probably wanted to give you a whole bunch more."

"You know your grandmother pretty well," Kathy laughed. "But we're happy just the way it is."

Matt nodded. "And you like that ornament just fine, too; it's very pretty. But the one you really like, Mom, is that one over on the side, with the alternating pink and blue wooden rocking horses on a string; nothing fancy at all. Baby's First Christmas, _1992_, that Dad got you when you were pregnant." He flashed a thumbs up at his father. "Good move, Dad. I'm gonna have to remember that."

"Not for a _long_ time yet," McCormick told him. "Unlike your grandmother, I am in no hurry."

Matt laughed and pointed to another spot. "And, the last of the baby ornaments, Grandpa Milt's contribution. 'Born Dribbler' on the basketball ornament. Ever the traditionalist, Grandpa Milt."

It was Mark's turn to laugh. "We can probably all be thankful that sticking to the traditional way of things was never high on his list."

Kathy rubbed a hand against his arm. "I know I am."

McCormick leaned his head back to smile up at her as she bent down to kiss him quickly. "Just one of the many perks of playing Tonto," he told her, pulling her back toward him playfully.

"Hello," Matt interrupted, "child still in the room."

McCormick made a face at him. "'Child'. You'd bite my head off if I called you that. You've been telling me you were grown up for at least two or three years now."

"Yeah, and you've been telling me I didn't know how much growing up I had to do. Either way, I don't need to see you two making out here in the living room."

With an evil grin, McCormick said, "How do you think we got the baby ornaments?"

Matt held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, you win this one. Let's move on." He gestured toward the tree again. "There's the one you guys got the year you were married, but you went out at least half a dozen different times before you found one that Mom really liked. And the one shaped like a house that you got when you moved here from the gatehouse, when you were both a little sad and scared about setting out on your own."

Mark grinned in appreciation. "He really does seem to have this stuff down pat."

"He's got his dad's attention to detail," Kathy told him.

"Yep, I know it all," the young man continued with a smile. "The paint horse Grandpa gave to his very own Tonto; the checkered flag he gave you the year you beat that Sammy O'Connell guy. The law book when you passed the bar, and the powdered wig when you finally accepted a judgeship. He said he was giving you the wig because he didn't want you to forget that sometimes traditions are a good thing. He also said you better like it, because he actually had to get on a computer and order it from the other side of the world and you should appreciate that sort of effort.

"Up there toward the top is the fishing pole he gave me to celebrate the first time we all went camping together. It's hanging next to the bicycle from the year I started driving when he told me the first time I got a ticket or did anything stupid behind the wheel, he'd make sure you guys put me back on a two-wheeler for the rest of my life. I never doubted him for a minute.

"I think my favorite, though, might be the little castle from the year the whole family went over to Scotland. I still remember they made us all put on those skirts—"

"Kilts," Kathy corrected.

"Same difference," Matt and Mark replied in almost perfect unison, and Kathy just laughed.

"But Grandpa Milt," Matt continued, "he was the funniest. He didn't want to wear it, but he didn't want anyone to _think_ he didn't want to wear it, and he sure didn't want to say he couldn't do anything you were going to do, Dad, especially when you weren't even really complaining about it. He was just stuck. And then—" Suddenly the young man broke off, and the animation filling his face was replaced with uncertainty. "Jeez, Dad, I'm sorry."

McCormick raised an eyebrow. "Sorry? For what?"

Matt shook his head and gestured toward the tree. "I didn't mean to go on so much about Grandpa Milt. I know it's still hard for you."

With a sad smile, Mark answered, "Never be sorry for that. There are a lot of memories on that tree, and he's part of most of 'em."

"He was there for everything," Matt said wistfully as he leaned his head back against the sofa. "All the first, important things."

"First, last, and everything in between," the elder McCormick agreed, trying not to dwell on the idea that there'd be no more first anythings. "He loved you a lot, you know, kiddo."

"Both of you," Kathy added, wrapping her arms around her husband's neck. "All of us."

Silence descended as they all watched the lights blink off and on for a few minutes. Finally, Matt spoke again. "I never really talked to him, you know. I mean, about you and him, Dad. Most times it didn't really matter; you guys sure seemed to have it worked out. But every once in a while I just really wanted to ask him how he could've done it."

Mark gazed evenly at his son. "Done what? Sent me to prison? Or brought me home?"

"No!" Matt seemed shocked by the idea. "Sent you to prison, of course."

"Oh. Well, believe me, there've been times when they've both seemed about equally crazy to me." He gave a very small smile. "You could've asked him any time, you know; the answer would've always been the same. That first he did what he had to do, and then he did what he thought he should do."

His son cocked an eyebrow at him. "And what about your answers, Dad? Would they have always been the same, too?"

"Hardly," McCormick laughed. He paused, then added, "But eventually I came around."

Matt appeared to think about that for a moment, then he laughed, too. "Yeah, that's kind of how I figured it, too."

"You McCormick boys are both pretty smart," Kathy told them with a smile. Then she whispered in Mark's ear, "You can't put it off forever."

He looked up at her, sadness in his eyes. "It's the last one," he said, indicating the ornament in his hand. "Once I hang it, it's official; we're having Christmas without him."

She shook her head. "Look around you," she told him gently, "the tree, your family. What would any of this be without him?"

It took a moment, but then a smile spread across his face, and McCormick kissed his wife again. "You're right, as usual," he told her, then pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the tree, placing the ornament carefully on a branch.

"Now let's have some cocoa," he said as he turned to gaze lovingly at his family, knowing that he would never have Christmas without Hardcastle.


End file.
